The Worm in the Apple
by The Tesseract Seraph
Summary: OneshotGreedxMartel. Everyone's favorite snake chimera finds out just why a certain homunculus got his name. Spoileriffic, R for implied SECKS, yadda yadda.


_Isn't selfishness like that,  
feeding on itself until  
all the thoughts grow fatter?_  
Sue Owen, "The Worm in the Apple"

* * *

"Let's get it straight before we start: You know you aren't the first or the last." 

If Martel had been less of a soldier or more of a romantic, she would have thought that an inauspicious way to begin a relationship. As it was she was a little offended; it wasn't even a question, just a firm, regular beat of a thought: You _know_, _you_ know you won't be the first or the last.

And she supposed she did; she'd seen him with other women sitting on his lap or sprawled at either side like lazy cats, soaking up his attention. He was a handsome man despite the sharp teeth and cat-like eyes (or maybe because of them), and women were all too happy to acquiesce to his desire to own all of them. One or two or ten at a time, he'd take them into his devil's nest and into his bed, keeping a train of conquests at his side at all times.

She still felt like she was special, like there was a quiet secret purr reserved for her and her alone in Greed's heart. She thought she'd felt it back there in the Fifth Laboratory, when he'd first walked in like he owned the place, boots clicking on the concrete, dying light of the gas lamps reflecting in his dark glasses. "So what's it going to be?" he'd said to all those gleaming eyes, peering out at him with predatory hunger.

"Are you going to stay in here, or come out and play in hell with me?"

The three of them had hardly considered it; they'd been a unit longer than they could tell, longer before they'd been interned in hell as false prisoners of war; longer than they'd been snake and dog and ox. Roa had looked at Dolcetto and Martel had thrust a hand out through the bars, stretching to grasp at him as he walked by.

"Take me with you. Wherever you go, I don't care, take me with you."

He'd turned to look at herand Dolcetto and Roa, but mostly herand tipped down his glasses, peering at her with eyes slit like a cat's. Purple, she'd noted. Pretty. He looked like a chimera himself, but one fused for beauty. Right up until he flashed her a smile full of sharp points. Even then she wasn't afraid, staring out at him defiantly as a snake disturbed from its rest.

"All right, woman. Step back and I'll bust you out of there." He'd cracked his neck, unlimbering his joints with a series of hollow pops. Dolcetto had cringed at the sound, rumbling low in his throat, and their rescuer had stopped to squint at them.

"Oh ho, you've got the whole family in there. Hey, hey–are your buddies coming, too?"

Martel didn't even need to look back to know what they would have said. She'd flashed the not-chimera a grin filled with fangs of her own. "We're a package deal. They go where I do."

He had looked at her for a long moment with those purple cat-eyes, before laughing and giving her a wink. "I can think of a couple of places I won't let them go with you and me, lady. Back up."

In that instant she'd known him as a flirt and a womanizer, but she didn't care. In the brief instant she'd had her hand on his arm, she'd felt that secret internal purr, sly and avaricious, the taste of a soul on her fingertips.

Martel had fallen, and fallen hard.

So now here they were in one of those places Roa and Dolcetto had been forbidden to follow. It had been weeks, no–a month since they'd broken out of the Fifth Laboratory, and Greed had forged his highly irregular corps.

They were a tiny band and a messy one, but a group that would follow him to hell and back. It had been two weeks since their numbers had been cut down with the initial skirmishes, with the military, with the Ishbalites and their scar-faced champion. But Greed and Martel, Dolcetto and Roa had stumbled and tumbled through these encounters intact, and the homunculus had finally sat them all down to give them the real story.

Banning that State Alchemist from the room, and with him the lizard-man and the cat-girl and the dozen other chimeras and soul-armors that had followed them out, the homunculus sat his trusted three and a bottle of whiskey down and explained. And drank. And explained, liquor loosening his tongue just enough to let the bitter humor of his story of the gates of death and forbidden alchemy and binding to flow past those pointed teeth. He expected no pity and received none; they were soldiers and treated it like a military briefing.

"So that's the enemy," he explained, tipping out another fifth of whiskey for Roa. "The slut, the fat kid, the pretty-boy, and the mother I'd like to fu–_mff!_"

He choked, dropping the bottle with a clatter and a laugh as Roa elbowed him in the ribs. The ox gave him an obdurate stare, before nodding to Martel in silent reproof. She smirked, tipping back a mouthful of her own drink and savoring the burn. "I've heard worse," she said, on putting her glass down. "From Roa over there when he stubs his toe. So how do we know 'em? The black leather?"

Greed shot Roa a dirty look and a grin, rubbing at his ribs. "Easy there, big fella. You might actually bruise me one of these days." Dolcetto choked down a smirk as Roa rolled his eyes, and Greed at last shook his head and sobered.

"Nah. That's what you'd call a personal choice. You have to admit–" He stretched out on his chair and sprawled for their examination. "–we look pretty good in black. You look for this," he raised his hand, spreading his fingers and displaying the ouroborus mark on the palm. "Only we have them."

The soldiers nodded; Martel took another sip of her whiskey. "And what do we do if we see them? Do we engage?" Dolcetto asked, eagerly.

Incredulity flooded the homunculus's face, before he snorted amusement, leaning back to prop his feet on the table and fold his hands behind his head. "Ha! I wouldn't even go up against two of the bastards, and I'm one of them! And they hunt in pairs. No, if you see them, you save your skins. And tell me." He pulled his glasses off, passing a hand over his face before offering up another sharp-toothed grin.

"We'll get them before they get us. And if we don't, we'll make it hell for them to bring us down." He pulled his boots off the table, leaning forward to peer into the faces of his soldiers. "You're with me on that, aren't you?"

"It's the least we can do after the military betrayed us," Roa rumbled. The other two smirked their assent.

Martel felt compelled to add her voice on the matter: "I told you I'd follow you wherever, Greed. Even if it means going down fighting the rest of those bastards." She jabbed Dolcetto under the table with an elbow, cutting off the smart remark she knew was coming. He gave a good-natured grumble, shaking his head.

Greed clucked his tongue, watching the interplay with an amusement that rankled. "You two are just so _cute_," he simpered. "This must be what they call the _esprit de corps_." The chimerae shot the homunculus identical dirty looks. He raised his hands, flashing his sharp teeth in an amused grin.

"Hey, now. I could make a pretty good soldier, what do you think? Plundering the women, raping the houses, it'd be great." Roa snorted at the very idea.

"What's our next mission?"

Greed held the innocent act for a moment longer, before letting his chair thump to the floor. He got up, claiming the last of the bottle of whiskey for himself before speaking: "Find the Fullmetal kid and his brother. Bring that armor to me so I can get a look at it. That enough for you?"

Dolcetto drained his glass, before holding it out in vain hopes of a refill. Martel didn't bother to hide her smirk as Greed smacked his hand away, the glass hitting the floor and shattering. "Don't get greedy. That's my job." He winked. "Now, is that enough for you?"

"It's enough," Roa answered for all three of them. "We'll need some time. Dolcetto–" He gestured, before turning to claim his hammer. "Come. Martel..." He turned back to look at her.

She raised her glass with a grin, showing off the remaining finger of whiskey. "Still got some left. I'll be right out once I finish it."

This won her a grunt, as her fellow chimerae collected their things. "Just don't get so plastered we have to scrape you up off the floor again," Dolcetto retorted. "Or the walls. Or the ceiling. Or..."

Roa nudged the dog. "Come. She'll be fine."

"Right. I've got my drinking buddy with me," Martel replied cheerily. She could already feel the alcohol buzzing in her veins; why else would she have slapped Greed so boldly on the shoulder, causing him to start back to the present. He might've been drunk, too, for he echoed the grin and put an arm possessively around her shoulders.

"Sure. You two nursemaids go make your plan of attack. The lady will be fine with me–right?" He winked down at her; she winked back. It had to be the alcohol, but it felt sort of nice to be utterly honest with the homunculus.

Dolcetto opened his mouth and shut it again as his much-abused ribs got another nudge from Roa. "Fine," he managed, before slipping out and banging the door behind him.

They waited a good thirty seconds before breaking into raucous laughter and an improvised toast.

"So now it's just you and me, snakelady," Greed said at length, before taking a hit of whiskey right from the bottle.

"Mhm," Martel hummed, savoring her last mouthful of the drink. The familiar, pleasant alcoholic warmth had already spread to her fingers and toes, bringing with it utter contentment with the world. It didn't matter what would happen tomorrow or whether they'd even be alive in two weeks; she was happy now.

For a moment, Greed didn't say anything. He looked at the bottle in his hand, then at her; set the bottle down and leaned over to slide a hand around behind her head. "Tell me, does it taste better on your lips?" he asked, then leaned in to test his theory. She pressed into the kiss, let it linger and fill her with a warmth the alcohol couldn't match.

She let her glass fall forgotten from her fingers, reaching up to bury them in his short spiky hair. He found able use for this sharp teeth nibbling at her lower lip, sliding his free hand up her back.

It was a pity when they had to break off for breath, staring at each other from a distance of inches, hazy-eyed. Martel wondered briefly at what the homunculus might be thinking; her own muddled thoughts matching his purple eyes with Roa's or Dolcetto's, the room with some godforsaken alley where snake and dog and ox had taken a night off from the business of death to enjoy Ishbal's perpetual summer. Then there had been four hands on her instead of two and two mouths to satisfy instead of one, but this seemed altogether more intimate...

"Bedroom?" the homunculus muttered, breaking into her thoughts.

She didn't have to think about that one long; smirking and muttering, "Why not right here? The table's good enough."

"I like the way you think, snakelady," Greed purred against her lips, and pulled her down onto the table.

* * *

_"Let's get it straight before we start: You know you aren't the first or the last."_

It was an interesting two hours, one where Martel learned everything those sharp teeth and that clever tongue could do; one where she managed to surprise jaded Greed a time or two with the Fifth Laboratory's handiwork. Surprised both of them, enough the old homunculus got around to thinking, while they worked over that creaky old table, and Roa and Dolcetto sat outside and planned around the noises, that he would definitely have to explore the charms of his snakelady a little more.

Martel just concentrated on having a good time, and giving the bastard a real run for his money, his "you know you aren't the first" aside. Maybe it was just enough to be his first experience with a chimera, leaving an indelible mark on the Ultimate Shield like a viper's teeth in human flesh. And that, if she could have done it, she would have–put her asp's fangs into Greed so deeply he'd burn up with fever for her, his own namesake avarice filled up completely with her.

It wouldn't happen. But Martel contented herself with two hours of undivided attention, gasps and sighs and the muted squeaking of a table never meant for this kind of abuse. When they ended up on the floor they took it as a sign to move back to the bedroom, and spent several hours more snarled up like hibernating serpents until their momentary ardor was exhausted. Martel drifted off to sleep utterly, selfishly content with herself, and didn't consider her promise to return to plan with Roa and Dolcetto in the least.

* * *

Morning came too soon to find her sprawled naked on an empty bed, stirring to the sounds of Greed in another room, sweet-talking another woman. Martel thought nothing of it as she bathed and dressed in the slow motions of her morning meditation, before stepping outside to wake Roa and Dolcetto from their sleep. 

They said nothing of her absence the previous evening as they sat down to plan, with another bottle of whiskey and ears closed to the noises their commander and his latest catch were making. They said nothing except the usual musings about work, and Martel was glad of it, for it let her nurture her own jealousy in silence.


End file.
